


My Heart Will Stay

by ashavahishta



Series: 2012 'Verse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:17:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavahishta/pseuds/ashavahishta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> For awhile, Australia feels like a holiday, but Harry and Louis can't relax when they're forced into doing certain things to hide their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart Will Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [My heart will stay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661717) by [TGSantiaga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGSantiaga/pseuds/TGSantiaga)



 

 

 

  
Australia is all sunshine and warm smiles and fresh air, and it feels like a holiday even though it really isn't.

They get their day off on the harbour, laughing and drinking beer and making fun of how seriously Liam takes fishing. (Because Liam takes everything too seriously, and secretly they all love him for it). That afternoon, Harry and Louis tumble into their hotel room still damp and smelling like salt. Harry kisses at the new freckles that have bloomed over Louis' cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and Louis shimmies down the bed and licks a long line over the V of Harry's pelvis. Harry moans and then laughs a little, ticklish, and flips them over so he can kiss him again, big and silly and joyous.

 

 

Their second morning in Sydney sees the boys in Liam's hotel room, having breakfast but mostly listening to management talk at them about their schedule for the day.

Harry is very nearly still asleep, collapsed into an armchair with Louis sprawled over his lap, both still in pyjamas because who cared if they were spotted shuffling down the hallway to Liam's room at six in the morning? Harry mostly tunes out as Anthony details their schedule farther, but it's easy enough to follow: interview, interview, photoshoot, interview, radio thing, break for lunch, interview, interview, interview...

He picks slowly at the croissant he has resting on the arm of the chair, getting flakes of delicate pastry all over the upholstery. Liam frowns at him from the opposite armchair but doesn't say anything, just makes meaningful eyes at the small stack of plates and napkins on the table between them. Liam is an expert at meaningful eyes. Louis grumbles when Harry leans over to grab a napkin, the movement disturbing his position in Harry's lap. Then he reaches over and steals a bit of the croissant, grinning cheekily when Harry frowns.

"Now, tonight is the pool party at The Ivy. Best behaviour please boys, looking sharp, but it will be a no camera policy, just so you know. Now, tomorrow -"

Harry's head snaps up. "No cameras?" he repeats and Louis seems to wake up slightly beside him. "Really?"

"None?" Louis says, tone hopeful, and Anthony nods. "No cameras. But that doesn't mean -"

"No cameras." Harry says again, and turns his head to catch Louis' eye. No cameras means they can relax a little, means they can let themselves touch a little more than usual, means Harry won't have to chat up every woman in the place. No cameras means they might be able to just act like a normal couple for one night.

Louis smiles sweetly at him, his blueblue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sounds like a good night," he says, and Harry kisses him on the cheek just because he can.

Zayn makes a gagging noise from the couch. "Oi, some of us are trying to eat here."

Management goes on to warn them about being careful at the party and just because there's no cameras doesn't mean people won't hear about it and - but Harry tunes them out because. Because it doesn't _matter_ , he's been given an inch and he is sure as hell gonna take a mile.

 

 

The party is just as great as Harry had hoped. There's champagne flowing and lots of interesting people to talk to, and good music and some truly excellent finger food. Of course, this all pales in comparison to being able to keep Louis close all night.

He restrains himself as much as he can, which is to say that he doesn't outright kiss Louis on the mouth. Everything else, though, is fair game. He keeps his arm around Louis' waist and lets Louis play with his hair, and when Louis laughs he buries his face in Harry's neck, huffing warm breaths against his collarbone. They even dance together, stupidly at first and then slower, foreheads touching and Louis' hand warm and solid on the small of his back.

That night at their hotel they have drunk, fumbling sex, laughing too much to kiss and not even getting their clothes off properly. Harry wakes up the next morning with a sore head and Louis drooling on his shoulder. He can't stop smiling.

 

 

Melbourne brings clubbing with the boys, having a few drinks and watching Niall and Zayn flirt with bright pretty Australian girls, their laughs echoing off the walls of the private booth they've been given. Harry has a brilliant time, and they wander through the hotel lobby together at 4am, collapsing into bed tipsy and pleasantly exhausted.

Brisbane is hot compared to Melbourne, humid and sunny. It feels like it's soaking right into Harry's blood, like there's a sunset in his veins, this warm thing thrumming under his skin. It makes him buzz, makes him hyper and reckless and unrestrained. The Brisbane concert is incredible, and even more than usual, Harry can't take his eyes off Louis.

They like to talk during concerts, sometimes, pointing out signs in the audience or joking about Niall nearly tripping over, things like that. Anything, really. Harry gets a thought into his head and he just wants to share it with Louis straight away. It's ridiculous, it really is, but he can't help it. Louis always grins and jokes and touches him, which just makes Harry want to do _more_ to keep Louis' attention on him as much as possible.

Tonight, Louis is _amazing_. He's amazing, and he's all Harry's, he has been for a really long time and sometimes that blows Harry's mind because what did he do to deserve that? What did he do to deserve the glowing boy with the beautiful eyes and the warm heart, what did he do to deserve Louis' crinkly smiles and his laughter and his kisses?

Harry feels like the luckiest person in the world by the end of the concert, and he can't help but do something about it. As they cluster together for their bows, Harry's hand lands on Louis' back but he lets it slip lower, resting just above the curve of Louis' ass and curling slightly in his suspenders. Louis smiles at him and steps away to begin thanking the crowd and no, that's not enough. Harry has to tell Louis how wonderful he is _right now_.

Liam is talking on the other side of the stage, belting out his usual "best fans in the world!" and Harry takes the opportunity to turn to Louis, touching at the suspenders over his shoulder. He leans in, feels Louis' hand flatten against his stomach as he says "You were so great tonight," into Louis' ear. Louis nods and turns away, his face carefully blank, fixes his hair. Harry can tell he's pleased and trying to hide it, and he steps back.

A split second later, Harry changes his mind. He's got this warm feeling in his belly, affection and love and _pride_ because he knows how hard Louis works and he knows how much better he sounds these days, better than he ever did. That deserves more than a whisper in the ear, it really does.

So Harry thinks, _fuck it._

He circles back, puts his hand on Louis' shoulder again and says, "Lou," leaning in again. Louis turns his head, expecting another whisper, and Harry kisses him, high on the cheek just next to his ear.

It's short, almost casual, and it's a gesture Harry's made hundreds of times before. It's 'good morning' and 'thanks for buying milk' and 'you look great' and 'see you soon' and tonight it's 'I'm proud of you.'

After, Harry turns away again and scratches his nose, nonchalant. When he turns back he catches Louis' eye. Louis is smiling, a little bashful and a lot surprised. Harry smiles back, and for a moment it's just the two of them.

Then Harry remembers he has thousands of screaming fans right in front of him, and turns to address the crowd.

 

 

The next day is not so pleasant. They get called into separate meetings one at a time, with Anthony and their publicity lady Paula. Harry's meeting is in a small room in the hotel that he supposes is meant to pass as an office. This means ugly furniture and dark green walls that remind him of his grandmother's house.

Anthony and Paula say a lot of things, about twitter and pictures and rumours, about reputation and sales figures and seeming available. Basically it all boils down to _You can't kiss your secret boyfriend onstage and not expect consequences_ , which makes Harry so angry that he blanks out for a long time. He stares at the green wallpaper and thinks of his grandmother and the smell of craft glue because she always had little activities to do when he went over there. He thinks about sequins and scissors and coloured paper and does not, does not listen to this man and this woman tell him that his relationship is something to be ashamed of.

"Harry, are you listening?"

Harry blinks. "Yes," he says slowly.

Anthony's expression says he knows that's a lie, but he continues anyway.

"So Louis will tweet Eleanor today just to remind the fans that he's got a girl waiting for him back home -"

Harry very nearly snorts but restrains himself, schools his expression into something neutral as Anthony continues.

"Now we've been in contact with Emma Ostilly from the Gotta Be You shoot, remember?"

Harry's brow furrows in confusion. "...yes?"

He does remember her, tall and blonde and gorgeous. Sweet, too, and all the boys had enjoyed spending time with her during the shoot.

"We've spoken to her and she's flying out today for a tabloid commercial. You'll go out, have a few drinks, walk her home and give her a kiss where the cameras can see, okay? Then we'll ride that for a few weeks and everything will settle back to normal."

Paula looks extremely satisfied with herself, red-lipsticked mouth turned up in a smile. Harry just stares.

"Well?"

Harry realises that he's supposed to be responding to this in some way, but it feels like something got lodged in his throat when Paula said _give her a kiss_ and he can't quite get it out.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry coughs, clears his throat, and coughs again. "I'm sorry," he says. "You want me to do _what?"_

Paula's expression doesn't change. "Take her out where the cameras can see, of course! Nothing like giving the fans something new to talk about after the week we've had."

 

 

Harry argues. Well, he tries to argue, but he's fighting a losing battle and they all know it.

Finally, defeated, angry and pained, Harry leaves the ugly little room which reminds him of his grandmother and goes to see Louis. On his way he checks his phone, sees that Louis has already sent the tweet to Eleanor and it _hurts_ , deep and throbbing like a bruise. He knows it's not true, of course he does, but Harry is naturally possessive and he hates watching Louis proclaim to the world that his heart belongs to someone else.

He sighs, feeling heavy and old, and puts his phone away.

In their room, Louis is sitting on the couch, laptop open on his knees. He's probably already looking at the responses to his tweet.

When he looks up, he says "Well, I'm trending," in a falsely cheerful voice, and Harry says, "Louis -" but Louis interrupts.

"And what are they making you do, young Harold?"

Harry stares at him, not wanting to answer because he hates hurting Louis more than he hates nearly anything. He looks away, stays silent.

Louis' eyes are a flinty, ice-blue colour, his voice brittle to match when he repeats, "What are they making you do, Harry?"

Harry tells him, and he watches Louis' face fall and his hands clench, he watches Louis nod and say, "Well, whatever. You better get ready then, hadn't you? Wouldn't want to miss your  _date._ "

Harry flinches.

Louis stands up from the couch and Harry reaches out for the other boy, fingers reaching to hook into his suspenders. "Boo -" he says, plaintive and soft, and Louis shrugs away.

"Don't wake me when you come in," Louis says finally, and leaves the room.

 

It's not like this hasn't happened before. It's not like Harry's never had to watch from their bed as Louis dressed for a date with Eleanor where the tabloids would see. It's not like Harry actually enjoys the assumption that he's slept with half the women he's ever met. They should be used to this by now, it should be easier but it's not. In fact maybe it's worse because they haven't had to deal with it in awhile. Maybe it's worse because Harry has to actually be with someone else instead of just talking about it.

As Harry gets ready to go out, his chest feels hollow, his stomach knotted. He wonders if Louis feels the same.

 

 

Harry wishes he could say he has the worst night of his life. He wishes Emma was awful and shallow and stupid, but she's not. She's sweet and funny and down to earth, and he finds himself enjoying her company. As soon as he notices this, he feels guilty.

He wishes Louis would text him back.

When Louis has to go on his 'dates' with Eleanor, he always texts. Stupid little things,  _the waiter here looks like my cousin, can we do that seafood pasta again for tea tonight?, did Zayn tell you about next weekend -_ to remind Harry that he's thinking of him. 

Tonight, Harry has sent Louis over half a dozen texts, the same inane kind of things, then, _please don't shut me out, love_  half an hour ago.

No reply.

Harry pockets his phone, turns his attention to the lovely girl in front of him. He tries very hard not to think about how much he wants to go back to the hotel and kiss Louis until he can bring his smile back to life.

 

 

The paparazzi outside the place Emma is staying are so obvious Harry wants to laugh. He can _hear_ them, rustling around, talking to each other, adjusting their equipment. He panics slightly as they approach her door. He knows this is it, doesn't he, he knows what he has to do and he doesn't want to, he doesn't  _want_ this but he knows it'll only get worse if he doesn't do it. Harry leans in and kisses this pretty girl who is not his boyfriend, kisses her and it's not even terrible, it's a nice kiss but it's not  _Louis_  and that's the whole problem, isn't it?

Harry holds the kiss as long as he can, waits for the paps to get a decent shot. Then he says goodnight, polite and warm as he can manage, and leaves.

 

 

When he gets up to their room, Louis is not asleep. The lights are off, but Louis is flat on his back, which means he's only dozing. Harry knows perfectly well that Louis won't sleep properly until he turns onto his side, which is exactly what he does when Harry shrugs off everything but his underwear and lifts the blanket. He tries to slide in behind Louis, tries to get his arm around his waist. Louis is stiff and unmoving, and Harry feels sick. He can't actually remember a time that Louis refused to respond to his touch.

Shifting forward, Harry presses his lips to the nape of Louis' neck, where the skin is soft and delicate and warm. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmurs, closes his eyes against a wave of irrational guilt. He shouldn't have to feel like he betrayed Louis, because he  _didn't_ , not really.

Louis makes this noise like a sob and says, "It's not even your fault," and Harry noses at Louis' hair and tries to get his arms around him again. Louis squirms away and tells him, "You smell like perfume," in a tone that's both disbelieving and hurt.

Harry freezes. The lump from earlier today is back in his throat, burning. He tries to swallow past it, eyes squeezing shut again. "Do you want me to shower?"

Louis hesitates and bites his lip. (Harry can't see but he knows Louis does, he knows). Then Louis says, "Yes."

 

Harry showers. When he returns to the room Louis has turned the light on and is sitting up against the headboard of the bed. His eyes are a sad stormy grey, not the bright happy blue Harry loves so much. He looks so fucking _tired,_ too. Harry wants to crawl into his lap and hug him and hold him and fix this. He needs to _fix_ this.

"Can I -" Harry asks this time, gesturing vaguely to the bed, hesitant in a way he never is with Louis.

Louis nods, and even allows Harry to straddle his lap, his knees settling on either side of Louis' hips. Like this they're almost eye to eye, and Harry notices that Louis makes an abortive gesture like he was going to steady Harry in place and stopped himself. His hands curl into fists against his sides instead.

"What do I smell like now?" Harry asks, leaning forward. Louis closes his eyes and breathes in, replies, "Just you."

Harry wants to say something about how he wishes he could smell like Louis, because he loves Louis' smell and how it clings to his clothes and his hair and his skin. He can't word it right, though, so he just sits there and lets Louis look at him with sad eyes and looks back. 

"Did you do it?" Louis asks. Apparently he can't bring himself to say  _did you kiss her._

Harry thinks about how he brushed his teeth in the bathroom so that Louis wouldn't notice any trace of her. He nods.

Louis closes his eyes, like it actually fucking pains him to think about it, and sighs out this heavy horrible sound that makes Harry's chest ache. He leans forward, trying to kiss Louis, but the other boy turns his face away so Harry's lips land on his cheek. He frowns. "Lou," he says, and again. "Lou."

Louis makes a frustrated noise. "This is so stupid," he bursts out, voice thick. "I'm not even mad at you. I'm mad at management and that portion of our fans who'd disappear if we came out, and I'm mad at me because I'm too much of a coward to stand up for myself when this shite happens and -"

Harry's mouth keeps finding his cheeks and his nose, his eyelids, and Harry is murmuring "Shhh," mindlessly, says Louis' name low and gentle, until Louis finally stops turning away and lets Harry catch his mouth. He kisses back, chaste and shallow, his hands coming up to settle on Harry's hips, so easy and so familiar.

Harry shifts in his lap and keeps kissing him, a little deeper each time. It's not leading to anything, he just wants Louis to relax, he just wants to comfort him. Comfort himself, too.

Against his mouth, Louis whispers, "I had to pretend I loved someone else today," and Harry says, "I know." Louis whispers, "I hate this," and Harry says, "I know." Louis whispers, "Sometimes I just want to hold your _hand_ ," and Harry says, "I know," and kisses him and kisses him because maybe if he kisses Louis enough this will all go away.

They stop talking, kissing for real now. Harry finds himself moving forward as much as he can and Louis surges up so they're chest to chest, and his fingers are carding through Louis' soft hair and Louis' hands are stroking up his back. Their tongues touch in his mouth and Harry  _shudders,_ draws in a shaky breath and deepens the kiss further. It's nothing like any kiss he's ever experienced, it's needy and clingy and _vital,_ right now, utterly overwhelming and perfect in its intensity.

Eventually, Harry has to pull away. It's too much, he can't feel all this at once or he'll explode. He rests his forehead against Louis' and closes his eyes and they breathe there for a moment, harsh and quick. Harry blindly fumbles until he finds Louis' hand and lets their fingers interweave and hold, tight.

"I love you so fucking much," Harry says, raw and intense and _real._

This time it's Louis' turn to say, "I know."

"I know," Louis says. "I love you too," Louis says, and they're kissing again, wet and a little desperate now. Their hands separate to tangle in each others' hair, trying to get close, closer.

"We're going home next week," Harry reminds him, and Louis says, _"Home,"_ in this longing, wistful voice.

 _Home_ means their flat and snuggling on the couch and Harry cooking dinner and slow lazy morning sex. It means holding hands in front of their mums because there's no secrets in families. Home means rest and sleep, it means shutting out the rest of the world and being _them_ for a little while, home means touching as much and as often as they like without worrying about consequences.

Harry says _home_ in the exact same tone, and Louis closes his eyes and says, "But tomorrow they'll be asking about her -" and Harry interrupts, Harry says, "It doesn't matter, please Lou it doesn't matter you know I don't, you _know_ -"

Louis says, "I hate this," again in that choked off voice he gets when he's exhausted and he's trying not to cry.

Harry, desperate, sad, exhausted, in love, says, "This is us, okay? It sucks sometimes but it's _us."_

Lou is silent. Then, slowly, he nods and swallows, blinks until his eyes are dry. "I'm really tired, babe," he says and sounds it, croaky and worn. Harry stares at him for another moment and nods too. 

"Okay," he says. "Let's just go to sleep."

They disentangle and Harry lays on his side, curls into himself. He feels drained, more exhausted from today than he's felt from months of touring. None of this is perfect and none of this is easy, and who said being in love was so great, anyway? Being in love hurts and bites and aches, it's constant, unrelenting.

Louis fits himself to Harry's body, knees against the back of Harry's thighs, chest against his back, arms tightwarmsecure around Harry's waist. His palm is splayed over Harry's chest and Harry's heart beats for him, knocks a rhythm against his ribs like it wants to escape and be cradled in Louis' steady hand.

(Maybe it already is. Maybe Harry's heart has belonged to Louis since the day a boy with crinkly blue eyes and the brightest smile in the world said hello to him in a bathroom two years ago.)

Louis kisses his neck, long and lingering and achingly tender. "It's us," he says, like it's an affirmation.

When Harry goes to sleep he feels just a little better about everything.  
  



End file.
